


Tragedy (Some Days)

by RedPiperFox



Category: Stray Kids (Band), TWICE (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Not K-Pop Idols, Angst, Death and Dying, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Philosophical?, kinda OOC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:07:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29889849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedPiperFox/pseuds/RedPiperFox
Summary: Life is full of tragedies, Sana's more so than others. But just because something is tragic, does not mean it can't be beautiful.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Minatozaki Sana
Kudos: 2





	Tragedy (Some Days)

**Author's Note:**

> First fanfic, kinda sad.... please mind the tags!  
> Enjoy!!

The sky stretches across the horizon, a canvas pulled taunt on the world. Sana lies flat on the grass, the air still around her, the breath stolen from inside her. Glittering diamonds are trapped in the velvet of space. It’s too wide, too deep, and as she looks up, she finds herself drowning.

The silence is deafening.

Some days, Sana feels as though the sky would break her.

You won’t find this in the news reports, in the history books, or in the local gossip, but Sana wasn’t supposed to survive. Her whole life is a series of surviving, outlasting, breaking unbeatable odds. Sana always stood on the brink of eternity, tethered to this life by a small, uncertain force. It was infuriating, like a tide that reached the sand but couldn’t ever grasp the beach. Sana wears tiny earrings with sand locked inside glass on her ears, gifted from her mother. They’re supposed to be good luck charms, and reminders of the beach for when she can’t be there to hear the whispers of the sea. But when she wears them and closes her eyes, all she hears is her own breath.

Her screams would shatter the dark.

Some days, Sana feels as though she could break the sky.

She lives in a small house, surrounded by forests, giving the illusion of solitude. But it’s only four streets away from a bustling city. She owns enough land to wander and feel as though she could get lost. The illusion is comforting. The ocean is only a walk away, the beach a secluded hideaway with a priceless view of the sunrise. It’s a generous gift from her mother, who is trying with all her might to tether Sana to this life.

But how do you compensate for pain? How do you quantify grief?

Some days, Sana thought the ocean would drown her.

Sana was required (disguised in the word “recommended”) to attend a support group. It didn’t bother her- it was comforting to see people week after week, eyes shining a little brighter each time, shoulders relaxing in the comforting atmosphere. She tried to ignore as the circle got smaller and smaller each year, until the group was only four people, and the emptiness was unavoidable. It was like the crowd on a beach that left as soon as the cold got comfortable, and the water burned cold.

The world was a shrinking place.

Some days, Sana thought she could drown out the ocean.

There was a charity trip, composed of students who gave up their summers to rebuild a small community decimated by the hurricane season. They’ll tell you in the news reports, in the history book, or in the local gossip, that the town had amassed just enough money to send thirty-nine students, the entirety of the senior graduating class, on this trip. What they won’t tell you, is that it had been the wish of the fortieth student, Mina, to go on this trip with her class. It had been her wish in third grade, when she learned about Hurricane Sandy, and cried when the video played of families losing their homes. It had been her wish in eighth grade, when she was diagnosed with stage four leukemia, and began intense chemotherapy. It had been her wish during senior year, three months before they left, when a tumor had been found in her brain. She died two week before the trip. The class brought a little framed picture of her, watching over them, cheering them on as they built houses, installed cabinets, moved in furniture, and then sitting on the roof to watch the sunrise. But they missed the point. Sana brought the photo to a little girl who moved into one of the houses they built, and told her about Mina.

“She cried when she heard you lost your home,” she explained softly, “She wanted to be here to help you.”

The little girl hung Mina’s photo in their living room, and would tell her story to anyone who would listen. Not many people did. Sana wonders if people would recognize Mina’s name now if she mentioned it. Thirty-eight other people, but only Sana remembers to send a card to the family each year.

People see, and they think they know, but each person is as dull as the last.

Some days, Sana finds the loneliness to be a comforting blanket.

Sana's closet is a cacophony of blaring colors. She only steps out in bright colors, a blinding nuisance that the world had to look at. People stare as she strolls to the beach, stare as she walks through town, stare as she rides her bike through the city. But whenever Chan sees her, he smiles, so she doesn’t mind the stares. If others don’t smile at her wardrobe, then she can be a pebble in their shoe, a reminder that wouldn’t let them rest. Her mother tries to calm her, reason some mellowed outfits into Sana's wardrobe, but it never works. She only owns one black dress, but it’s well-used.

She only wears it to funerals.

Some days, Sana finds the loneliness to be overwhelmingly cold.

Chan has survived his fair share of tragedies, although you wouldn’t know it from the length of his smile and the depth of his dimples. His friends didn’t survive the opioid crisis, and his brother didn’t survive being a teenager. The news, the history books, and the local gossip will say it was because he was strong, because he had a stable home, and good values, but Sana knew that wasn’t it. What causes one star to die quicker than others? Chan was only twelve when he found himself alone. There are pictures of him crying at funerals published in the local newspaper, a polite obituary for his brother Felix. He managed to hide his face better in his friends’ funerals. He works as a doctor now. His shoulders are broader, and his heart impossibly bigger. When he cries, he cries out an ocean, quietly, somewhere no one can see him.

How much is a life worth?

Some days, Sana is there to hold his hand.

The calendar months drag on and mark more heartbreaks for them to bear. Sana stops going to the support group when Momo dies, and there were only three of them left. Everyone eventually dies, but Sana doesn’t want to be the last one standing in the room, sitting and waiting for no one to show up. She’s still friendly, and makes every effort to check up individually with each person left. But they all know there’s no point. Momo was six years older than her, too bold and sassy to die. She was the one who had had the best chance-- that was what they had told each other. The funeral is packed with people who loved her. Sana can’t bring herself to look at the body in the coffin, because she knows by now that it’ll be dollied up to something Momo wasn’t. The last time they met, Momo was grey, weak, barely able to walk. But there was an electric spark in her eyes that brightened each day, taunting, as she came closer to death’s door.

The sky shakes with a clap of thunder, and everyone goes home.

Some days, Chan holds Sana's hand, impossibly tight.

When they first met, Sana brought Chan to the woods around her house. He had grown up in the city, the heart of a bustling metropolis. The echoing of waves and traffic filled the trees. She takes him to the top of the hill, buildings to one side, the beach to the other, the sun dipping below the horizon. The sky was painted in bleeding watercolors, and reflected on the windows and water. Time stood still for just this moment.

“My brother was always in bad company,” Chan whispered.

“I told him, I tried to help, but…” he had turned abruptly, blinking away tears, “Y’know, I attended my high school reunion last year, and I couldn’t recognize anyone. The crowd was smaller than half of those who attended prom. It’s only been five years.”

Sana hadn’t known what to say. So she rested her head on her knees, and stared at the sky.

“My father’s graduating class was small,” she whispered, “he told me a story of his friend, one of the survivors of a school shooting tragedy. This friend was friends with the shooter, and looking back, he could remember all the times where he could have stopped it.”

Chan frowned, “Rain, right? Was that his name? Read about him in the papers I think, or maybe one of the patients gossiped about his family...”

But the papers didn’t mention, and the local gossip couldn’t know. Rain had lived alone in the home that Sana now lived in. He had told Sana's dad of all the times he could have prevented that tragedy, until he couldn’t bear to remember it, and sunk into the earth. She could hear him in the creaking of the old wood floors, and the crying of the pipes.

Guilt is a heavy burden to carry.

Some days, Sana sees the ground burn like the sun beneath her.

Her father was a heavy smoker. It was his way of coping, but in doing so he cursed everyone around him in his grieving. Sana wasn’t shocked or surprised when they found cancer in her lungs. Her mother was angry, but Sana had learned early that being angry doesn’t numb the pain or slow down time. Anger just made your fall higher, and hurt longer. And maybe it’s the soft look in Chan's eyes, but she doesn’t want her suffering to bleed around her like acid. She wants to be able to walk in bright colors, dance in a prism of light, and not feel her grief tie around her ankles like lead. Chan, she thinks, must understand this, because he walks her up and down the length of the beach at night, when neither of them can sleep because life is a heavy weight on their minds. The moon hums above their heads.

“There was a little girl,” he murmurs, “Dahyun. She has a tumor in her brain. Everyone thought she would die, but… but she didn’t. She couldn’t. Beat all the odds stacked against her.”

“My mother’s friend did that,” Sana murmurs back, “Sunmi, I think it was. She’s selling pies on Hayworth Ave now.”

The moon starts to dip into the ocean, a pastel pink hue as the sun comes up behind them. The waves kiss their feet, sea foam glittering on the sand. Sana wiggles her toes and finds herself smiling, despite the dull pain in her chest.

Some days, the ground sees Sana burn like a masterpiece.

She’ll just be a name on a gravestone, a name in her yearbook, another missing person from a shrinking company at reunions. You won’t find this in the history books, the news reports, or in the local gossip either. You won’t see pictures of Sana's broad smile, of Chan's arm tightly around her waist, or her white wedding dress sewn with colorful flowers. You won’t see articles about Sana going to the hospital where Chan works, bringing bright sweaters and smiling stuffed animals for people lying on their deathbeds. You won’t hear about her dancing on the beach, spotlighted by the moon under a canvas of glittering stars, spinning until her feet go numb and her head hurts and she falls into the soft sand. Her mother could tell you, if she’s not cut herself off from the world. The neighbors might tell you, if you ask hard enough. Chan would tell you, before he’s gone too.

Some days, the world is a big place, the stars are too numerous, the grains of sand are uncountable.

But some days, the world is small, the stars die in a spectacular supernova, and the sand is bright pink.

**Author's Note:**

> Well I hope you enjoyed, and if you did, please let me know :)  
> If you did enjoy, it was inspired and kinda flew from this fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19757893  
> Stay Safe everyone!


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